


How The Flowers Bloom

by kudosgremlin



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Abusive relationships all around him, M/M, also warning for Zephyros being Not Good, but hyacinth and apollo are wholesome and cute so, ft. Himbo Hyacinthus, read it for the pine, they're gay himbo jocks let them be cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29308119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kudosgremlin/pseuds/kudosgremlin
Summary: A god’s love could be dangerous, as could a god’s anger. Both of them together were sure to be fatal. Apollo wondered what type of man would take such a risk. He decided that regardless of his character, Hyacinthus must be fascinating if only for that.
Relationships: Apollo & Hyacinthus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Apollo/Boreas (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Apollo/Hyacinthus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Artemis/Polyboea, Boreas/Hyacinthus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Hyacinthus/Thamyris (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Hyacinthus/Zephyrus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So my goal here is basically to make Hyacinth more than just Apollo's beautiful boyfriend that died. If you know the myth you know the story is tragic (or is it..?) but I wanted to give these ancient gays a little more context. I also took lots of liberty with characters like Zephyros and Thamyris since there's so little about them so I hope they're more interesting and fun!! Some other myths that are related will be referenced throughout the story if they're relevant too but obviously, the focus is on Apollo's relationship with Hyacinthus. 
> 
> Oh and heads up: Apollo is a little bit pompous in this first chapter but he chills out I promise.

The way that Zephyros’s smiles turned from gentle to crazed, how his hand continually fled to his heart, how he would look down on the mortal world with such care from one moment and such fury to the next, it was clear to all that Eros had struck him. The west wind, known for being so warm and gentle, now became harsh and full of fury at times, particularly in Sparta. 

It caught Apollo’s attention. He who was the patron god of Sparta, who had festivals in his name, who watched the nation go to war and expand, watched them create dances and songs, it did not go unnoticed when the West Wind acted strangely upon the land. He followed the wind to its origin, soared through the brilliant blue springtime skies on his chariot drawn by the whitest of swans all the way to the wilderness of Thrace. 

Daisies and daffodils bloomed from the ground in patches of yellow light. The bark of surrounding trees a rich brown and the leaves that drooped from their branches shined the deepest of greens. He settled his chariot atop a cave. Vines creeping up the rocks, a warm glow from a fire peaking through small crevices. The squeal of his swans sang through the forest as he climbed down the steep boulders toward the cave’s entrance.

He did not see Zephyros. His wife sat, slowly stirred a pot that rested over a fire pit inside of the cave, her dark eyes meeting his. “Lord Apollo,” she greeted as she took the ladle from the pot and crossed through the cave to meet him, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m looking for Zephyros.” He smiled at her. It was clear to him that Zephyros was in love but he very much doubted that it was for poor Chloris. The madness resided in Sparta, it was all that made any sense. He couldn’t help but pity the nymph. 

“He just left.” A sigh fell from her lips and she gestured for Apollo to follow her deeper inside the cave. “Would you like some stew?”

He followed and crouched beside the fire across from Chloris. “Sure.” He didn’t see why not. He’d wait for the West Wind to return. “Do you think he went to Sparta?” He noticed how the muscles in her jaw clenched as she stirred the stew, how her strong brow pulled taut. “Do you know why?”

She reached for a bowl and scooped the soup up, let it splatter into the ceramic. “I do.” She answered at last as she thrust the bowl in Apollo’s direction. 

A small smirk played at the corners of his lips, one that he tried to hide. He was no stranger to a scorned woman, he’d seen it plenty with Hera, seen what one could do. Apollo took the bowl and held it in his lap. He remained silent to see what more Chloris would share. He took no pleasure in her anger but he could not help but be curious about the events that might follow. God of oracles or not, there were times when Apollo enjoyed watching the story unfold in a linear fashion. He saw no great threat in the wind blowing harder through Sparta, only a need to investigate. It offered him something interesting to do, immortality could be quite boring if he always looked into the future. 

Instead of elaborating, she offered Apollo a spoon. He realized he’d have to dig it out of her. 

“Thank you.” He offered a charming smile and took a bite. As he chewed, Apollo leaned back dramatically with a pleased expression, closed his eyes in a show of appreciation. “Chloris, this is delicious!” Flattery often worked well, he knew. 

She snorted and shook her head. “I don’t know who it is,” she was too smart not to see through the flattery but it was clear what Apollo wanted, “he hasn’t told me a thing about it.” 

Apollo pursed his lips together. “That’s probably smart of him.”

“It is,” she sighed, “I don’t see why he won’t let me leave here, since his eyes are caught on someone new. I miss home.”

Apollo never agreed with how Zephyros handled his love affairs. It was common enough, kidnap a woman, marry her, hope she grew to return your affection. He didn’t interfere, he knew better than to pick fights with another god. Still, he pitied Chloris. “A home like Elysium, I couldn’t blame you.”

“And now a cave.” Scooting away from the fire she began to eat her stew, leaned back against the rock wall. “I live worse than mortals.”

The god raised his eyebrows and fell silent. He thought he’d better not make a comment on that. No, he wasn’t going to add fuel to the fire between husband and wife, not more than he had by coming to ask about Zephyros’s affair. Instead, he changed the subject. They chatted about his recent travels, about how glorious spring was that year, about the garden Chloris was blooming all around the cave she so hated. Apollo didn’t want to leave her in a sour mood. 

As the hours passed, the sun hung low in the sky casting an orange glow that cascaded over the landscape and bled through tree trunks in glorious rays of light. The pair grew uproariously merry between drinks of unmixed wine. It took a lot to get Apollo drunk but they worked at it for hours and he met his destination, both of them melting into fits of giggles.

“You know what else Boreas told me?” Apollo asked with a wild grin. Chloris shook her head, her cheeks flushed red as she cradled the wineskin in her arms like a babe. “When Zephyros was a kid he cried while eating a steak. Not because he was sad about the animal, just because he had to chew it for so long he thought he’d never get to finish it.”

Chloris snorted at the image that came to mind. It was not a child she thought of. She thought of her husband, with his harsh nose and strong jaw, that serious expression he always wore. She thought of that expression melting away as he chewed and chewed and of sobs bursting from his lips. The image was pathetic but she could not help but to burst into laughter. She despised him, she loved learning of embarrassing stories such as that. “What a fool,” she cackled.

It was as they gossiped that the very man they spoke of returned. It was night by then. The only light was the fire’s red glow. He stopped at the cave’s entrance with a scowl. His wife was clearly drunk, as was the god who accompanied her in his absence. He wondered what they were doing together.

“Apollo.” It was a greeting, supposedly, but the syllables rang out like a reprimanding. It was bold of him, he was no Olympian, not Zeus’s favorite son, not a son of his at all. Still, he found the scene he walked in on to be disrespectful. A man doesn’t get drunk with another man’s wife. 

But the god of light did not seem to mind. Grinning at Zephyros, he rose to his feet and left the wineskin with Chloris. “What’s the hour, my friend?” Asked Apollo, outstretching his arms as if to welcome Zephyros into his abode. “I’ve been waiting for you all day.” His cheeks almost shined gold in their drunken flush.

“To drink?” Asked Zephyros, his expression not softening at Apollo’s merriment. 

“No, to investigate. Let’s go for a walk.” He clapped his hand atop his shoulder and gently nudged him away from the cave, leaving a melancholic Chloris in their wake. She sighed as she watched their backs shrink in the distance. Apollo was fine company but she was well aware that he was not there to help her.

Apollo brought him far enough that his wife would not overhear their conversation, all while yapping off drunkenly about the things he had been telling Chloris about him. Zephyros only found himself growing more annoyed. Nobody liked to be gossiped about and while being the god of truth might be noble, he believed firmly that some truths did not need to be spoken, least of all to his wife. He would have a word with his brother for embarrassing him so. 

“So were you in a hurry to finish eating?” Asked Apollo with a smirk, giving Zephyros a playful push. “Like it couldn’t just be that it was hard to chew.”

He let out a long sigh, sick of being made into a joke. “What do you want, Apollo?” He asked, coming to a stop. They were far enough away now that the fire within the cave was no longer visible. “You came here and got drunk with my wife. I’d expect that from Dionysus but not you, you have a better reason to be here. What is it?”

Apollo rolled his eyes and leaned back against a tree, taking on a more sober pretense as he thought of how best to ask his question. Zephyros was never particularly agreeable with him, perhaps because of his history with his brother, but he was not usually so short. He worried he might have annoyed him too much. “Sparta,” he started, tipping his head, trying to read Zephyros’s expression, “your wind rages through there these days.”

The West Wind narrowed his eyes at Apollo and gave a stiff shake of his head. “I’ll try and be more controlled.”

Apollo trilled his lips with a huff and waved his hand dismissively. “There’s no damage to property or anyone, it’s just out of the ordinary. Even mortals have noted the difference. I wonder where it’s coming from is all, it’s not like you.” He watched as Zephyros’s features softened, he thought he saw something more than love in his eyes. It looked like pain. “Eros has struck you, hasn’t he?” Zephyros did not answer, his expression was unchanged. “Who is it that’s made you so furious?”

Zephyros shook his head again, his nose wrinkled as though he smelled something rancid. “Hyacinthus,” he murmured the name with care, as though each syllable were placed to a meter, “a son of King Amyclas.”

Apollo’s lips curled into a pleased smile, though it remained gentle. “He’s angered you?”

“He’s toying with me,” he gave Apollo a sharp look, “gives his affection to a mortal as well. A _mortal_ , Apollo!” The wind ripped through the forest, scattered leaves from branches. 

He was amazed, it sounded highly unconventional, even interesting. It was bold to tease a god. A god’s love could be dangerous, as could a god’s anger. Both of them together were sure to be fatal. Apollo wondered what type of man would take such a risk. He decided that regardless of his character, Hyacinthus must be fascinating if only for that.

“But you love him,” Apollo said quietly, the amusement clear upon his features, “so you haven’t done anything other than huff around.”

Zephyros scoffed and looked at Apollo with that same sharp look that he’d been directing into the distance.

“Alright,” Apollo raised his hands in surrender, “I’ll go. Have some of your wife’s stew, it’s delicious.” He took a few steps and paused. “Don’t let the chewing stress you out too much.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyacinth has options available to him, and more to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for leaving such positive comments on the first chapter! I don't often share my work on a public platform like this but all the lovely responses have really encouraged me a bunch. Since I did not say in the first chapter's notes, updates will drop on Mondays or Tuesdays once a week!

Laughter sprang from Hyacinthus’s lips as he fell back into the grass. It was a glorious, merry spring. Flowers sprouted from the soil, the grass yielded to the wind, and Hyacinthus melted into the ground while Thamyris dropped on top of him and left kisses along his neck. “You are wild,” Hyacinthus teased as he rested his hands upon his hips, “what happened to our competition?” A sigh fell from his lips and he grabbed Thamyris’s cheek, gently pushed him back from his neck so he could look at him. “Did you realize I’d win?”

Thamyris was an attractive young man. His skin a deep brown, his smile so charming that it was contagious. Where he smiled, those around him seemed to as well. Hyacinthus could not say that he loved him, but his company never failed to disappoint. They got along well. They shared laughter freely, and he never felt an obligation to feel more than easy enjoyment toward him. It worked out. Since Hyacinthus was being courted more seriously by a god, he was in no position to fall in love, not with Thamyris. 

Still, friendship was to be treasured, and Thamyris’s sweet kisses only made him more of a joy.

“I’m the one who has you pinned,” Thamyris teased as he reached out and brushed Hyacinthus’s dark curls from his forehead, “isn’t that how you win a wrestling match?”

The prince’s grin turned into a wry smirk and his eyes showed a daring fire to them. He wrapped an arm around Thamyris’s waist and turned him over, pushed him into the grass and held his arms above his head in a firm grip. “That’s a nasty trick, you can’t start kissing me and say that we’re still playing.” Thamyris squirmed to free an arm but Hyacinthus was strong. A warrior prince, one of the best spearmen in Sparta, and far too competitive to let Thamyris win.

“I didn’t hear that when you explained the rules,” Thamyris responded, “I think you’re a sore loser.”

Hyacinthus snorted and leaned down, Thamyris’s arms still in his grip as he playfully ran his tongue across his cheek. Thamyris laughed and squirmed, only to settle after a bite to his nose when Hyacinthus let him go and stood. Thamyris stayed in the grass and brought his arm beneath his head and Hyacinthus could feel his eyes follow him.

Thamyris just liked to watch how Hyacinthus’s thick curls rustled in the strong breeze, how his plump lips twisted into a smile that could steal the hearts of gods. The prince offered a hand but rather than take it to stand, Thamyris intertwined his fingers and gave a gentle tug.   
  
“My chiton is so dirty.” Hyacinthus noted, waving his hand as he stepped over his legs.

“Then it won’t matter if you lay back down.” Thamyris tugged at him again.

Hyacinthus let out a gentle sigh and looked in the distance, his hand still in his as he watched how the tree branches bent under the strong gusts of wind. He knew exactly why the wind raged and although the air was not cold, it still sent chills down his spine. His joy dissolved into melancholy, a firm look rooted into the distance. 

“I should probably go, actually.” He murmured, turning back to face Thamyris. 

“Tomorrow, then?” 

Hyacinthus looked down at him and gave a shake of his head. “I have a war meeting and plans with someone else after. I’ll call on you when I’m available.” 

He helped Thamyris back to his feet and they walked back toward the city. The sun was sinking in the horizon by the time they met with rows of buildings. Houses and farms littered the green landscape and planted atop a well sat a beautiful young man playing an instrument that Hyacinthus had never seen before. Normally, he would think nothing of it but there was something about the cadence of that melody, about how the musician’s eyes met his own that caught his attention.

Hyacinthus paused to listen, his gaze did not leave the brilliant blue’s of the musicians. 

“What, think he’s better than me?” Thamyris teased, ribbing him lightly with his elbow. “I bet I could woo this whole polis.” 

He snorted and looked at Thamyris. It wasn’t a doubtful expression but the sarcasm certainly showed in his eyes. “Could you?” He asked. “Well, can you play that instrument?” He nodded towards the musician whose focus returned to his music, no longer staring at the prince.

“I’ve never seen it before,” admitted Thamyris, “but what’s an instrument against a singer’s voice? An Instrument is disconnected in a way, don’t you think? The voice comes from your soul.”

Hyacinthus smiled a little at the metaphor, but still he thought he’d never heard a song as beautiful as the one the musician played. He wouldn’t put that to words, he did not wish to wound Thamyris’s pride. He was a wonderful singer and Hyacinthus adored listening to his songs but there was something about that instrument and the way the musician played it so delicately and so perfectly that struck Hyacinthus dumb. He didn’t want to leave. 

“Perhaps it’s more closely connected to the soul,” Hyacinthus conceded, careful to speak quietly, not wanting to interrupt the song, “but to play like that must be to harness one’s being into your hands. It’s so. . .” He struggled for a proper word to describe it and shook his head. “I want to stay and listen.” 

Although he knew Zephyros must be waiting for him by the sound of the angry wind, Hyacinthus did as he pleased. He had not agreed to see the West Wind that day and saw no sin in lingering there a while longer. It would be worse to miss such a glorious song. 

Thamyris stood beside him and they both fell silent to listen. The notes were carried by the breeze and fell upon their ears like perfection. If music could make a man drunk, that song would have had them wasted. That strange instrument moved something within both of them, made them both stare and listen as though they’d been struck dumb, and when the melody slowed to something more gentle, Hyacinthus felt he could cry at its beauty. It was not long before a crowd gathered around the well, all of them silent, all of them in awe. 

It was night when the musician’s fingers stilled and he looked at Hyacinthus with a grin that made his heart leap. Hyacinthus wanted to meet him, find out what sort of man could perform so wonderfully but before he could recover his senses to speak with him, he left. 

-☀ **❃** ☀-

Hyacinthus’s bedroom was once a place of reprieve, a place he could expect to be empty and for him to be alone. Those days passed after he caught a god’s eye. Zephyros could come and go as he pleased without anyone seeing, without Hyacinthus seeing if he so chose. The prince wondered how often he hung over his shoulder, invisible, watching. 

“I missed you,” said the wind god as he rose from the small bed in the room’s center, “Why are you muddy?”

His sturdy arms wrapped around Hyacinthus’s waist, his deep blue eyes looking over his stained garment. Hyacinthus smiled a little and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “I was wrestling Thamyris.” The words fell from his lips less like a confession and more like a simple statement, recounting his day to his lover, recounting his time spent with another like it meant nothing. 

Zephyros hated how he did that, how Hyacinthus could so easily drill a hole into his heart like it was nothing at all. He knew it was naivety, knew the prince did not realize the weight of his words. “Is that all?” 

“Just about,” Hyacinthus shrugged and brought his arms to rest over Zephyros’s shoulders, “listened to a musician play on the way back too.”

He could not understand how his love could be so tender with others. Didn’t understand how his affections felt so whole and honest when they were together but looked the same towards that mortal when he watched them. “Do you think of him when you’re with me?” Zephyros’s voice was soft, more gentle than it was towards anyone else as of late. His sharp nose brushed against Hyacinthus’s forehead, his breath warm against his brow.

“When you ask me about him.” His voice was playful as he pulled away just a little to look at the god and rocked him back and forth by his shoulders. “Otherwise you’re captivating enough that I don’t.” 

Hyacinthus was a beautiful man, a fierce warrior, and a fine diplomat. He knew he was desirable, knew that he had options available to him, and it excited him to explore them. It should have helped Zephyros’s case to be a god but Hyacinthus wanted to love someone for their character rather than their status and he had yet to find anything about Zephyros that captured him fully. Like Thamyris, he was enjoyable company, when he wasn’t so jealous. 

“Do you think of me when you’re with him?” Gods were not used to competing for a mortal’s affection. Hyacinthus knew this too but he was not aware of the extent Zephyros was bothered by it. Such agency and audacity in a lover so far beneath him, to the god, was unacceptable. Hyacinthus should have known better than to forget who his superior was, for Zephyros’s jealousy ran hot as fire through his veins. 

The raging wind was only a hint of that. But for now, the wind in Sparta was gentle, warm and springlike just as it should be. 

“I do,” admitted Hyacinthus, his playful smirk melting into somewhat of a scowl, “it’s hard not to when the wind rages how it does.” That scowl was met with one of the god’s own, a stronger one, one Hyacinthus had seen before, one that made him feel as though he were shrinking into the earth beneath his feet. “It’s just unusual, Zephyros.” Hyacinthus added, his expression softening as he grew to feel small beside him. His hand came up to run through the god’s brown locks, trying to calm that withering glare. “I know it comes from you and you are normally so gentle.” He pulled away and crossed his room toward the tall window. He pulled the crimson curtains back to let in the nighttime air, cooler than in the day but still warm. “Like how it is now. I like it calm like this, leave it to Boreas to bend the trees. You’re far better at giving soft and warm embraces. We love you for the spring air you carry and the flowers are so graceful under your gentle touch.”

He looked back at the god and how his expression softened under his gaze. It drove Zephyros half mad the way Hyacinthus could say something so infuriating one moment and something so softening the next. 

The wind outside his window picked up speed, nowhere near the recent rage it had been as of late. He made it strong enough only enough to roll through the prince’s precious curls, to watch them dance beautifully under the soft moonlight. A smile played on his lips at the way Hyacinthus closed his eyes and raised his chin, how peaceful and content he seemed. 

Zephyros walked to the window and brought a hand to rest against his cheek, pulled him in for a firm kiss. He knew he would not be refused. Hyacinthus’s hands rested on his sides, and Zephyros held his face firmly to his own. He liked kissing him in the open like this, hoped that the gods watched them and knew that the coveted prince belonged to him alone. 

That night the window remained uncovered. The hours passed by them between soft touches and whispered words. They tangled into bed with desire and passion, all the while Zephyros let the wind stay calm. It was as they lay naked, their limbs knotted around one another, their breaths slow and tired, that Hyacinthus began to hum. Zephyros thought nothing of it, he felt content with the prince’s hand gently trailing circles down his back but as the humming continued, he recognized the melody.

“Where did you hear that?” He asked quietly, not raising his head from Hyacinthus’s chest. It was a melody from Olympus and Zephyros knew he’d not sung it for his love.

“That musician today,” he answered tiredly, “he played the strangest instrument, it was beautiful. Do you like it?”

Zephyros did not answer. He brought his arm under Hyacinthus’s waist and held him tightly as if he feared that he’d be stolen away from him. More time passed without a word and his prince fell soundly asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... Did I warn this was going to be slow-burn? I think I didn't but well, take this as your warning! 
> 
> I'd like to thank Jess (everything-is-permitted), Martyna, and tumblr user my-name-is-apollo for beta-reading this chapter for me! Leave a comment, let me know what you think! Thanks for reading.


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